


So damn cold

by Minkey222



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Steve needs help
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-06
Updated: 2016-08-06
Packaged: 2018-07-29 17:32:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7693252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minkey222/pseuds/Minkey222
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve's just so damn cold</p>
            </blockquote>





	So damn cold

**Author's Note:**

> At a recommendation I read Nilly's issue's fic 'This condition is neurotic' which in turn inspired this. It's not long, I know, but what ever. Please leave comments or fic recs. They really make my day.

Steve is cold.

He can feel the gritty salt-water as it slides down his far-too-tender throat. He claws as the space around him, trying to find purchase to climb his way back up to the surface- But to no avail. His lungs constricted painfully as they complained about the lack of air occupying them. He tried in vain to swim upwards, to gain so semblance of movement but alas, it felt as though someone was dragging him deeper and deeper into the icy blue, numbing his limbs and filling his body with lead. His eye’s comically wide as he realises that he is going to die, here and now, frozen and lost to the world. His vision swims and black dots litter his view. Ever so slowly his body shuts down, releasing his last breath into the water, he sinks lower and lower and lower-

Steve wakes with a gasp, cold sweat lining his skin as he pushes the heap of blankets off of his heavily clothed body. He shivers as he stretches out and stands, drawing a weary hand over his tired eyes. Walking silently over to the thermostat he checks that the heating is still on high- It is. He still can’t stop the involuntary shiver as his mind dwells on the dream, or rather memory. He shakes his head to clear his thoughts and he all but staggers over to his bathroom, flicking on the lights, he doesn’t feel the cool tiles beneath his socked feet. He pushes a button and turns the water on scalding hot. He peels off each damp layer, depositing each article of clothing into the empty hamper beside him. He stands there for a second, staring at his pale face into the steamy mirror and then turns his back on his reflection and walks into the shower and stands beneath the stream. The water shocks him for a moment then he relaxes into it, letting the warmth wash over him. He takes his soap- Some artificial smelling stuff that was provided for him when he first came back- and lathers it over his skin to rid himself of the stench of nightmares. He watches as the brightly coloured suds swirl down the drain, letting the random patterns mesmerise him. Then all of a sudden the water is no longer soap-clouded but instead drains down blood red and sticky and it’s getting all over Steve, or rather is dripping off of him in thick rivulets and no matter how hard he scrubs at the awful liquid it will not stop staining him. Then the static noise of the water droplets is replaced with the screams of civilians as their life goes down in flames before them. The wails of a child now orphaned as their mother is shot down by enemy hands, the shouts of the men struck down in waves beside his as they charge again enemy lines, the tears shed by the men who aren’t much older than 16 who are only doing their duty, the men who he ended by his own hands, the crunch of bones, the squelch of guts, the groans of the dying. He shivers again and the water is clear on the floor but it is freezing, icy tendrils slipping across his slick skin, which is raw and bleeding in some places. In other places, it is burnt and blistering, but that doesn’t stop Steve from turning the temperature up higher. But the water stops suddenly and he is stood there in the empty room, naked and exposed. He shivers again as he grabs his towel to swaddle himself in. Pinpricks of red staining the pure white of the crisp fabric which is too soft on his sensitive skin. He looks in the mirror again and he is naked, not only in the physical sense but his emotions, thoughts and feelings are laid bare before him, his cheeks dripping tears as the horrors of the war continue to torment him. He wanted to talk to someone, anyone, anything to make it stop.

But he couldn’t because he was just so damn cold.


End file.
